


The 22nd Hour - An Alternate Take

by ScribeOfRhapsody



Series: Hours of an Alternate Life [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Suicide, This Is Sad, die Loqi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfRhapsody/pseuds/ScribeOfRhapsody
Summary: The action Ignis took was one of last resort – a desperate attempt. He was successful.





	The 22nd Hour - An Alternate Take

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this? Why am I writing sad fanfiction about my own fanfiction?

The floor swallowed Ignis’ groans as he dragged himself across the room. Six, it _hurt_, but he didn’t have long enough to take it slowly. Average time until unconsciousness when the femoral artery was severed was thirty seconds.

Somehow, he managed to make the trip, pushing himself up to rest one shoulder against the glass wall.

Insomnia lay before him, lit up by only the last traces of sunlight.

This. _This_ was what he was dying for. His beautiful home and those who lived in it. He could be at peace with that.

His breathing had grown shallow, and he dropped his head forwards against the glass. The coolness of the glass seeped past his bangs, his spectacles a hair’s width away from contact.

The tears gently fell now, blurring his vision, and he blinked them away in an attempt to hold on to his clear view of the city as long as possible.

Cold. He felt so cold.

A soft sob escaped his mouth, his voice cracking when he tried to use it. “I’m so sorry, Noct… I wish there was another way, but I swore I’d do whatever it took to keep you safe.”

Oh, Noct… Had it even been that long ago that the young Prince had been so concerned over his father’s health that he’d barely been able to stay focused on his schoolwork and the housekeeping? For all his apathetic attitude, Ignis knew how deeply his friend could care. This would tear him apart.

Gladio… Prompto… They would deal with their grief in their own ways, but they’d have to look after Noct as well.

Gladio would shoulder most of the burden. His job would become more difficult. But he would manage. He was strong, emotionally and physically.

Prompto… He knew all too well that the boy didn’t have many friends. Perhaps he and Noct and Gladio would be brought closer by this. It was the only good he could hope for.

“I wish you all the best, my friends…” Ignis felt his energy draining, his eyes slipping fully closed. “Godspeed…”

* * *

Aranea backtracked down the hall, a water bottle in one hand and coins jingling in the other. It wasn’t a welcome sound – just an unpleasant reminder of the profession that she normally loved but hated at the moment.

_“No kidnappings” _was going in the contract next time she found someone who wanted to hire them. No matter how this all turned out, she was done with the Empire. They could kiss her a–

What. The. Hell.

She stopped, noticing the very obvious absence of the man she’d left next to the vending machine. Okay, so in hindsight, it was stupid that she’d expected him to keep his word, but really? Where was he going to go?

“Oh, come on…” She pocketed the coins with an annoyed sigh. This was difficult enough without Ignis pulling this kind of pointless crap. She really didn’t want to fight him. If this was some sort of attempt to ambush her, she was going to be very unhappy–

Oh, Six… She was anything but squeamish around blood, but the sight of the _puddle _of it where she’d left Ignis had dread making her stomach do a flip.

She sprinted over, her eyes following the smeared trail of crimson across the carpet until she found its source.

It was a horrifying, morbid sight that looked like it could have been the screen shot for a suicide awareness poster. The way Ignis was slumped, his forehead resting against the glass while the sunset-lit city lay before him… He might have looked peaceful if it weren’t for the blood trail and how his arms were still restrained behind him.

“_Shit._” Aranea bolted to his side, sliding to her knees and pressing her fingers to his neck. Pulse. Where was his damned pulse? “_Biggs! Wedge! I need a potion in here, stat!_” She’d already used her last potion on Biggs earlier.

…Damn it all. She… she couldn’t find a pulse. He was already gone.

Her stomach gave another flip and her throat was tight as she spotted his still-wet cheeks.

She swore again, his words coming to mind with entirely different meanings now.

_You’ll gain no information from me._

He’d always known he wouldn’t have a chance against the Empire’s torture, but he had meant those words every time he said them. He always had this in his head as a last resort if he couldn’t escape. And… he was nothing if not efficient. He’d known exactly what to go for.

“Lady A?” Wedge asked as the three of them passed the doorway.

“Oh, Six…” Biggs said shakily, looking as white as his shirt.

“What the _hell _happened?” Loqi shoved in front of the other two.

“He cut his femoral artery…” Aranea said, feeling oddly hollow. The sun was still sinking, and the orange light of the sunset disappearing was only further revealing how pale Ignis… how pale the body was.

“Potion!” Loqi barked, looking on the verge of having a stroke.

Wedge motioned with his empty hands, even more quiet than usual. “Out.”

Biggs was still staring at Ignis, expression twisted with horror.

“Potion!” Loqi snapped at him, moving into Biggs’ personal space.

“It’s too late, Loqi!” Aranea roared, her eyes stinging.

Six… He’d been nineteen. Nineteen, and he’d just taken his own life. He’d been so bright. He could have had a brilliant life.

“You left him _alone_,” Loqi growled, sharply turning to pace the room as he tugged at the ends of his hair. “What the hell were you thinking? You had one job!”

“No, _you_ had one job!” Biggs glared murder at him, tone harsher than Aranea had ever heard it. “You mucked it up – that’s why we got called in in the first place!”

Loqi shook his head, breathing so quick Aranea wondered whether or not he was about to have a panic attack. “Your failure has doomed us all!”

“Not all of us.” Aranea clenched her fists, rising from her position on the floor by the body and facing the Imperial. “Just you.”

Realization clicked in his eyes, and he went for his gun just a split second too late.

Aranea’s lance slammed into his chest before he had his gun halfway up. He fell back, dropping his gun and gasping, clutching at the weapon, his eyes comically wide.

Aranea strolled forwards, yanking the lance out and vanishing it as she grabbed Loqi by the lapels. “Mission failed, huh? Guess that means your contacts won’t be helping us out of the city.” She jabbed her hand into the pocket she’d watched him put his phone in every time, taking possession of the accursed object and shoving it into her own pocket instead.

Loqi was gargling on the fluid in his lungs now, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have long enough to suffocate. She pulled him close, hissing into his face, “Nice working with you, Tummelt.”

He was small for a guy. Easier to haul around. It wasn’t difficult to send him into the panel of glass next to the one Ignis’ body was still leaning against.

She felt no remorse as he crashed through the glass and plummeted out of sight.

Good riddance, asshole.

The wind whipped through the room, shifting Ignis’ coat and bangs. He remained far too still otherwise.

Aranea tore her gaze from the sight, knowing it would haunt her to the end of her days. “It won’t be long before the Lucians show up,” she said roughly. “I want you two out of here by then.”

Biggs startled. “Lady A? Just us two?”

Aranea felt over the pocket with the phone. “I’m going to the Lucians. You’re getting out of here.”

“Oi.” Wedge crossed his arms. “Either we all go or we all stay.”

“No,” Aranea stressed. “We all go now, we get caught. Tummelt’s contacts will make sure we never make it out. I stay with the information, it draws the attention away. You guys get out, the Lucians find their traitors. Two birds, one stone, and they’ll keep me around for information. Only way we all have a shot of getting out of this.”

Both of them stayed still.

“Go,” she ordered. “Now!”

* * *

“Sir, do you see this?” the Glaive with him asked.

“I do.” Cor stepped forwards, taking point as he stepped out of the stairwell and into the office building’s hallway. He’d thought the blast of red magic had looked oddly like a signal. Now it appeared it _was_ one.

The female mercenary was standing in the middle of the hallway with her hands up.

Cor stepped closer. “If you intended this as a trap, I assure you things won’t end well for you.”

“No trap,” she said simply, her tone subdued.

“_Ulric reporting here. Majesty, the Imperial is dead._”

Cor cocked his head, making certain he’d heard correctly over the wind. Wind. Why was there wind? They were indoors.

“_Repeat, Ulric?_” Drautos demanded.

“_Confirmed, sir,_” Crowe’s voice cut in. “_Outside the building we were diverted to. Looks like he was thrown out of a window on an upper level. And stabbed._”

So this mercenary had turned.

Cor still kept his sword at the ready. “What changed your mind?”

Her eyes were downcast as she slightly inclined her head towards the office behind her. “I have information for your King, but I want to talk to _him._”

Hardly a simple request, but it could wait. Cor signaled for the Glaive with him to watch her as he circled around to check the office behind her–

…Six. Cor paused, closing his eyes for a moment.

He’d known the chances of getting Ignis back alive had been dwindling, but he hadn’t quite been prepared for the sight of the boy he’d seen grow up slumped against the glass of a window overlooking the city. The darkened carpet was not, in fact, due to the shadows of the night. It was a trail of blood. Ignis had dragged himself to the window with his hands bound behind him.

Cor made his way over to the body, crouching down next to the boy. The moon was out, but his face was far paler than it should have been, even in this lighting. His cracked glasses had slipped down to the bridge of his nose with the way his head was tilted against the glass, and wind was gently stirring the lighter tresses of his hair.

Cor swore lowly, bringing his hand up to touch his earpiece. “Regis… I’ve got the kid.”

A moment of silence passed. The King would know. Cor using his first name would have instantly clued him in.

“_…Understood._”

Cor angled his katana, cutting through the bonds securing Ignis’ hands behind him. “You deserved better, kid…” This was a self-inflicted death if he’d ever seen one. Ignis had chosen the Crown over himself. Cor had never doubted he would, but this…

He sighed softly, dismissing his sword and pushing up the boy’s glasses before gently gathering him into his arms. He was lighter than he should have been. And cold.

Cor’s arms were burning by the time he reached ground level, and he could hear a lot of commotion outside. Not surprising. With the news that the Imperial was dead, why would the rest of the Glaives still be scouting?

The mercenary was restrained and surrounded, giving her captors wary glances but not struggling.

An ambulance had arrived. Cor headed for it. They couldn’t do anything, but at least a bed was a proper place to lay Ignis down.

“Cor!”

There was the telltale sound of Regis’ cane striking the ground, and dread coiled within Cor. Regis had enough weighing on him. This was the last thing he needed to see. But he was going to insist on it. Ignis had been almost raised in the Citadel, after all. He was practically a second son to Regis.

Cor faced him, despite not wanting too. As King, Regis had long since learned to control his expression. But his eyes… those Cor knew how to read. The pure distress there was indescribable, and Clarus didn’t look much different.

“How?” Regis rasped.

“Suicide, it appears.” Cor kept his voice steady. “Femoral artery.”

Regis raised his hand, brushing back some of Ignis’ bangs from his cold forehead. “I expected too much of him…”

Cor resisted the urge to shift his hold so his arms would stop screaming. “I’d say he surpassed all of our expectations. Few have the strength of will for such a selfless act.”

“He shouldn’t have had to have debated taking such a step in the first place…” Regis said lowly.

“Dad!”

Oh, by the Astrals… Why couldn’t Noctis have been at home asleep like it had been reported?

Regis swiveled around faster than Cor had seen him move in years, and Cor tried to discreetly make for the ambulance.

Noctis was weaving around Glaives to get to his father. “What’s going on? Did you find–”

Damn. It had taken him too long. Noctis had spotted him. Spotted Ignis.

The Prince’s face went so white that it was almost the same color as Ignis at the moment.

_No,_ he mouthed, no sound leaving his mouth.

“Cor, the ambulance,” Regis said gruffly, moving to meet his son.

“He’s not… Dad, he’s not…?”

“Noctis…”

“Let me see him.”

“Son, there’s nothing that can be done–”

“_Let me see him!_”

Regis’ cane hit the ground as he caught Noctis before he could shove past him.

Cor turned his back on the scene, setting his sights fully back on the ambulance as the Prince’s desperate cries dissolved into sobs.

The paramedics had a bed ready. He supposed they’d seen him coming. They stood aside as he finally laid Ignis’ body down.

But then suddenly Noctis was beside him, a blue trail in his wake. He must have shaken off his father’s hold.

“Ignis!” The Prince hadn’t looked so young in years as he desperately latched onto the front of Ignis’ coat. “Come on! I-I’ll practice those stupid dance steps, I promise! A-and I’ll eat vegetables! Every day, I swear!”

“Noct…”

Cor noticed Gladio for the first time. He must have arrived with the King. He was blinking against the wetness in his eyes too as he came up behind Noctis and tried to grip his shoulders.

Noctis shrugged off the grip, viciously shaking his head. “No, no, no… no. Please… Please don’t leave me…” He last words were barely audible as he buried his face in Ignis’ shoulder. “_Not you too…_”

“He’s gone, Noct!” Gladio managed a stronger grip the second time, extracting Noctis from his place by the bed with a full arm around his torso.

Noctis wriggled in the hold, unable to break free this time. He tugged and fought against his Shield, only slumping when he exhausted himself. Still, he continued to weep.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that their lazy and unenthusiastic Prince had seen his nanny murdered and the flames of war take a nation. Trauma beyond what any man should have to face, let alone a child. Murder, separation, a spinal injury, and now the loss of his oldest friend. The friend that was meant to be at his side during his reign.

Cor had to wonder if there’d be anything left of the boy but a husk by the time he took the throne.

* * *

Noct was never the same after that night. Much like when he’d returned from Tenebrae, his personality shifted. The first few weeks were rough. Gladio himself was having a hard time adjusting, but Noct was much worse. He wouldn’t eat. Wasn’t going to school. But he didn’t touch his PlayStation either. Only once in a blue moon did Gladio see him check his phone.

And then came the day. The day after the traitor Glaives were all executed – courtesy of the information the mercenary woman had handed over.

Something within Noctis shifted again. He was so sullen, but it wasn’t the usual Noct type of sullen.

He didn’t complain. He got up at the right time. Cooked his own food. Was on time for everything.

Everything Ignis had ever tried to achieve.

But Noct was no longer Noct. The cloud never lifted, and it was a slap in the face when Gladio realized it likely was never going to.

The only times he ever even saw Noct smile were rare occasions with Prompto and when Umbra brought him a message from Lady Lunafreya.

He grew to be the perfect Prince, ready for Kingship. Serious. Stoic. Calculative.

Their journey away from the Crown City to obtain his forbears’ weapons was so short that Gladio might have missed it if he blinked.

Noctis was dreadfully goal set. To the point that even Gladio himself wanted to slow down and take a day for a break. Prompto was about to have a breakdown. So many missed photo opportunities that Noct flat-out refused due to time, no time for any type of sightseeing…

It was stifling, and not even Lady Lunafreya could change that when the Glaives successfully nabbed her from Tenebrae and brought her to meet with them.

_His father’s orders were clear,_ he’d said. And he wouldn’t keep his father waiting, weakened by the Wall as he was.

Obtain the arms. Gather the blessings. Return to the safety behind the Wall.

They did so.

But Noct didn’t just stay behind the Wall.

The Empire never stood a chance against the power he’d gathered. The war that Noct’s ancestors had taken generations to slowly lose was won in a few short months.

And then came the truth about Noct’s calling… just before his father passed.

Noct didn’t even hesitate.

There was no threat to Insomnia anymore except Ardyn. Noct entrusted the kingdom to its Queen and stepped into the Crystal.

Gladio remained before the Crystal longer than everyone else, his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms despite his Crownsguard gloves.

Noct was going to be in the Crystal for a long time. He didn’t need protection. He hadn’t needed it for a while, and he wouldn’t need it when he returned. Because he was going to die.

Gladio should have felt proud. He never would have guessed that lazy teen would accept his calling without blinking and walk to his death. Noct had grown into a fine King.

Gladio wished he hadn’t. He wished Noct was still slacking off and Ignis was chiding him about it.

But some wounds didn’t mend.

**Author's Note:**

> And if you are now super depressed, I recommend reading the FLUFFY addition to the Hours universe that I just posted because my friends won't let this series die. lol


End file.
